Honeymoon in High Heels by Gemma Halliday Page B

could think of to prevent you from leaving.  Not that we were going anywhere.  In fact, if I had my way, we'd spend the rest of the honeymoon in our room.
    I chose a long, flowing maxi dress with a halter top in a soft blue floral print, paired with white espadrilles with a wedge heel.  Ramirez went with a standard jeans and T-shirt, though as a concession to the locale, he went with flip flops instead of his normal work boots.  He looked laid back, relaxed, and I couldn’t wait to get him back to the room and alone.
    He lightly took hold of my hand as we walked along the pathway by the beach to the restaurant, sunset falling just behind us, casting a warm, amber colored glow along the water.  This was as close to perfect as I could imagine being. 
    As soon as we got to the luau, we were seated at a table for two near the stage, and two Mai Tais arrived at our table.  No sooner had we started sipping, than the lights dimmed, and loud drum music filled the room.   
    A moment later three guys in tiny loincloths carrying huge batons filled the stage.  They stomped to the rhythm of the drums then, to my surprise, lit the ends of their sticks on fire, swirling them around in the air in a brilliantly dangerous light show.  
    I sipped my drink.  “Hot,” I muttered.  Then giggled.  “No pun intended.”
    “You’re ogling the fire dancers, aren't you?” Ramirez teased.
    I gave him an innocent stare.  “Who me?”
    He shook his head.  “Only hours into our marriage, and you're checking out other guys?”  He made a tsking sound with his teeth. 
    I swatted him on the arm.  “Hey, I'm still allowed to look.  I just only touch you.”
    He sent me a look that was filled with more heat than the fire dancers' stage.  “That’s the part I’m looking forward to.”
    I grinned.  Me too.
    I sipped at my Mai Tai again, watching as the three guys swirled their sticks in the air, coming close to hitting the colorful, woven tarps draped on the walls behind them.  The crowd, oohed, aahed, and gasped as the fire swirled around their near naked bodies.  I'll admit, as my second Mai Tai came, I gasped right along with them, clapping as loudly as anyone when the show ended, and the guys bowed deeply, putting out their fire sticks.
    As soon as they vacated the stage, servers appeared at the table, depositing our first course.  It was soft, mushy and grey.  I sniffed it.  I nibbled it.  It was okay  Tasted a bit like coconut really, so I dug in as the next group of dancers took to the stage.
    This time it was three girls - all of them young, slim, and dressed in traditional grass skirts and strategically placed coconut bras.  They held flower leis in their hands, and as the drum music started up again, they began shaking their hips at a rate that would have Shakira jealous.  I watched, mesmerized by the shake-shake-shake as the music escalated in intensity, pumping in through hidden speakers.  
    I turned to my right.  Ramirez was a little mesmerized too.
    The girls stepped down off the stage and started shimmying through the crowd as our next course arrived.  Pork this time.  (I could tell because the pig head was still attached to the serving platter.  Ew.)   A girl with long, silky black hair and big brown eyes shimmied over to our table, moving her hips within a breath of Ramirez.
    His eyes glazed over.
    I swatted him on the arm
    He gave me an innocent stare.  “What?  I’m just looking, not touching.”
    I shot him a dirty look, but couldn't help grinning.  "Good.  Hands off the hula girls."
    "'Ote'a girls," he corrected me.  "Hula is Hawaiian.  It's slower.  'Ote'a is the Tahtiain traditional dance."
    I blinked at him.  "Wait - you've been studying up on the native dancing girls?"
    Ramirez shrugged.  "There was a brochure in the suite.  It was something to read while I was waiting for you to get dressed." 
    Three Mai Tais, two more courses, and one more group of dancers later I was